


Maybe

by LeakyCherry



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Bernadetta von Varley Needs a Hug, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I wrote this for myself, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mentioned Annette Fantine Dominic, Mentioned Edelgard von Hresvelg, Mentioned Mercedes von Martritz, No Beta, Oneshot, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Potentially OOC, Protect Bernadetta von Varley At All Costs, Protective Sylvain Jose Gautier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23128888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeakyCherry/pseuds/LeakyCherry
Summary: Bernadetta lives with the haunting memories of her childhood. A trip to the Marketplace finds her reliving a waking nightmare, so she retreats to the safety of her room. Eventually, Sylvain figures out something is wrong, and goes to her to find out what's up.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59





	Maybe

**Author's Note:**

> This story has brief references to CSA, so please be mindful of that. I hope you all enjoy!

This was the longest time in a while that Bernadetta had gone without leaving her room. She had joined the Blue Lions a few months back, and since then had grown sociable, at least enough to start the shaky foundation of friendship amongst her peers. It wasn't easy to get her to speak, certainly, or to leave her hiding place under the table. But the Lions had all been accommodating to her as best they could. Mercedes and Annette had been the very first to welcome her into their House, not even giving Dimitri a chance to speak before approaching her.

Sylvain was the second, and Bernadetta decided immediately that she could not trust him. He was a flirt, a womanizer. He was a Man. She didn't trust Men. Not old men, large and intimidating men, slight men with no real threat or presence. And certainly not men who looked right through her with eyes of amber, seemingly able to see into her soul and devouring the secrets that lie within. No, she certainly could not trust him or a single word he said.  
So why, then, was he the one who seemed to look after her the most? Following her from a distance almost like a cross between a puppy and a loyal protector? Bernie could hardly speak, much less to him, so why did he insist upon being a constant presence in her daily life when she dared step out her door? These were questions she wasn't sure she wanted the answers to. Nonetheless, it had been almost routine to see him occupying the same general space as her when she left her room for class or for necessities. Perhaps in some sort of messed up way, he wanted to be friends with her? A friend, that would be nice. Bernie was friends with the Professor- or so she hoped- but the thought of being friendly with a man was far too scary a one to consider.

\--

However, something had happened recently, a run in with a man that looked and yelled a little too much like her father. It hadn't even been directed towards her, but she was bombarded with flashbacks anyway. The pain, the yelling, the humiliation and forced silence all for the sake of being "molded" into the perfect wife. She had been frozen in fear, unable to stop herself from staring at the confrontation through glazed eyes. Perhaps she wasn't watching the man yell at the poor unsuspecting woman, perhaps she was watching herself be yelled at by her father. And when the woman was slapped, Bernadetta felt it too.  
And then she felt like she was on fire, her skin crawling and burning in all the places she had been touched and hurt, even in places where she had seen men place their hands upon the bodies of other women. It all made her sick. She didn't remember turning and running out of the marketplace, she didn't remember tripping and bloodying her knees in an attempt to reach safety. She didn't remember puking into the bushes right outside her room, and she didn't remember locking the door behind her as she crawled under her bed into the darkest corner to hide from the monsters in her head.

\--

Sleep did not come easily, or for hours afterwards. Stuck in a state of numbness and disconnect, the only way she knew time had passed was when the light from under her door would change in intensity before going out. She only moved when she had to, weak and shaking from hunger and from the tension she couldn't let go. It wasn't surprising that days went by without anyone noticing, she often stayed in her room days at a time if she could help it. But when a week had passed and no one had seen any mention of her, the members of the Blue Lions knew something was up.  
At some point during the week, Bernie had migrated from under her bed to under a pile of blankets on the corner of her bed, her hood covering her head and drawstrings pulled. She had stopped crying a long time ago, her eyes were glossy as though she were still holding them back. But there were no more tears to be shed for Bernie. The intensity of her anxiety and stress had lessened, but with it came fatigue that made her want to sleep all day, never truly rested. And her dreams, if they could be called that, were plagued by scenarios built from her past, finding new ways to torment her.

\--

It was perhaps a few hours after mid-day, going off of the light shining through the crack under her door. She had long since lost track of the days, so stuck in her own mind and unable to formulate much thought that didn't have to do with her trauma. Sometimes people would pass her door, or slam their's shut next to hers. It was a jolt to her already frayed system, hearing them on the other side of the only thing keeping her safe, serving only to bring her to reality just long enough to ensure she wouldn't need to fight. Such footsteps, sturdy but hesitant, could be heard passing her room. She tensed, waiting them to pass by, whoever it was. There was a muttering on the other side of the door. And eventually, an knock.

Bernadetta cried out in shock, holding herself as her heart began to race and thoughts began to jumble. This is it, this is how Bernie dies! Someone's finally come for her to ship her off back to her father so she could receive proper punishment! He was going to put her through 'training' again and sell her to the highest bidder and she would never see any of her friends again! Not the Professor, not Edie, not Mercie and Annie, not Sylv-

"Bernadetta?"

Sylvain?

"Bern, are you in here...? Are you okay?" He seemed... Worried. Why?

"D-Don't come in here!!" She cried, huddling further into her hoodie and shaking from fear.

"Please Bee, let me in. We're all worried about you. I'm worried about you." She could definitely hear that in his voice, but why should she believe him?

"Go away!" She shouted only just loud enough for him to hear through the thick wood. Her energy was draining just by him being nearby, she was so tired; she couldn't even muster the strength to yell properly.

Sylvain sighed from the other side of the door. "Open the door Bee, please. You've been in there over a week, which means you probably haven't eaten in just about as long too." The clenching of her too-empty stomach was a testament to that. What little food she'd had hoarded in her room was gone, and even then she couldn't bring herself to eat much of it at a time without feeling like she wasn't going to be able to keep it down.

Bernie felt like she was going to start crying again. "Please just leave..!" Her voice was broken by her agony and unshed tears. No one had to see this side of Bernie, if they did they would think less of her than she was sure they already did.

The sound of Bernie's voice, quite frankly, broke Sylvain's heart. He didn't have a clue what had happened to her, but he knew damn well that voice. It was the voice of a broken child. One that had been through far too much and was at their rope's end. He'd heard it far too many times in his life. From Dimitri following the Tragedy of Duscur, watching his family die. From Ingrid, upon learning that her betrothed had been a victim of the attack. Even if he would never admit it, from Felix as well during the months he avoided his father by hiding away in his brothers room after his death.

And finally, from himself; wishing fate hadn't dealt him such a cruel hand. The hand that gave him his Crest that made his brother hate him, that made his father see him as nothing more than a tool to grow and influence his power. The hand that showed him he couldn't trust anyone.  
He stood there for a moment silently. So long that Bernie thought he might have left; but then he spoke.

"Hey... You don't have to tell me whats going on, but please, you need to eat. I brought you some food from the dining hall. I-I'll leave it in front of your door and go, if you'll accept it."

Bernie hesitated, before nodding. Realizing he would not be able to see her, she stuttered out a reply. He left, and after a minute or two of gathering her courage, she quietly unlocks her door and opens it just a fraction to make sure he was actually gone. True to his word, he was no longer in the area. In place of where she assumed he had been standing, laid a basket covered by cloth.

She could smell freshly baked bread, and her mouth watered just as strongly as the feeling of nausea that took over. Retrieving the basket, she locked her door once more and for the first time in over a week, lit a candle in her room so she could see.  
The basket indeed had bread. Rolls and croissants that had most likely been left over from breakfast, as well as thickly sliced Gautier cheese and cured meats. An array of seasonal fruits and vegetables took up space in the corner, as well as a skin filled with water. Under all of this, nestled neatly on the bottom of the basket was a small piece of parchment with the words: "I'm here for you."

\--

Days passed like this, with Sylvain announcing his presence and leaving her food and water, writing notes of well wishes at the bottom of the basket. Not just from himself, it seemed. She had also recognized the handwriting of Mercedes and Annette. Strangely enough, a note had also been tucked in from Edelgard. This made her smile, as much of one as she could muster, anyway. She knew the tensions between the two Houses, and she appreciated that note even more. Eventually, she began to get used to his fleeting presence, and craved more of it, needing someone to be there for her and listen to her. Only a few people had ever heard her story, and as her mind came back to her, the need to tell someone about it grew. The need to tell him grew.

So she waited in front of her door, in the very last of her clean clothes, and waited for his knocks. Sure enough, they came, and with her heart hammering in her chest, she flips the lock. Opening the door just enough to let him know he could come in, she runs to her bed and pulls a sheet over her head, sitting against the wall with her knees to her chest. There seems to be hesitation on his side, the door opening slowly as he took careful steps into the dark room.

"Bernadetta...?" He spoke softly, trying to not scare her. Her fingers tremble as she grips the blanket tighter, but she also notices that her grip is more firm that it had been since he had started making sure she ate. Not making any eye contact, she replies in just above a whisper.

"..Hey." This seems to be what Sylvain needed to advance, placing today's basket on the floor next to her bed, sitting himself on the edge.

"Hey yourself. How are you feeling?" He spoke with such sincerity, the same sincerity he had been showing since he started making these trips. It still made her wary and confused.

"..Better, I think." She wanted to say 'Thank you', but the words wouldn't leave her mouth. Sylvain gave her a soft but steady look, taking in her physical appearance and how she hid herself and made herself smaller like a frightened cornered animal.

"I'm... glad to hear that. Bee... What's going on? Are you okay...?" He asks slowly, wanting to not scare her or stress her out with his questions. Bernadetta sighs, taking shaky breaths as she tries to steel herself for what she was about to reveal to him.

"I... Sylvain, I don't suppose Edie told you anything about me, did she..?" It would make things so much easier if she didn't have to talk about it. She really didn't want to talk about it. But, at the same time, she really did. She wanted to tell him and that scared her. Sylvain shook his head.

"Only that something really bad had to have happened to you to make you this reclusive again." Well that was not helpful at all! She grumbles under her breath. Curses, Edie, not making her life easier!

Blinking a few tears that suddenly sprung up at the thought of talking about her trauma away, she gave a big sigh and adjusted her grip on the sheet so that he could see her better. She had terrible bags under her eyes, and her eyes themselves were bloodshot and glossy, but held little life in them. She looked sick, by all accounts. But her illness wasn't something physical. It wasn't something she could take a potion or an antidote for and be cured. It was something in her memories, in the way she functioned and felt. The sickness was in her brain. The sickness was her.

"A few weeks ago, I guess, since that's how long I'm guessing I've been in here... I was in the marketplace. I don't even remember what i went there for. But- There was this.... There was this man. He looked familiar, in a way i didn't want to place. He was yelling at a woman. I don't know what it was about... but he slapped her. And I could feel it.  
"He looked familiar because he looked like my Father, and he yelled like him too. When I saw her, I wasn't seeing her, I was seeing me. And I wasn't seeing a stranger, I was seeing my Father raising his hand to strike me as punishment for not following his orders." She felt nauseous. So, so sick. Sneaking a peek to look at Sylvain's reaction, she'd say he looked slightly disturbed. She carried on.

"I.... When we first met, I couldn't stand you. I couldn't understand you. You're a Man. You're strong and you're scary and I shouldn't trust you for any reason. You kept following me around. I don't get it. I made no effort to be kind to you, I was cruel, even-" Sylvain snorted at that.

"Cruel? If anything you looked like a scared bunny. I doubt you have a cruel bone in your body, Bern." Bernadetta scowled, openly pouting.

"I am not a scared bunny!! I am... I-I am a mighty Heroine!" She tries to convince him, even through her voice breaking. He laughs.

"Whatever you say Bee. But please, continue." She nods, taking a moment before continuing once more.

"That kind of reaction is not something you're just born with. It's learned... And I learned it at the hands of my Father and his Friends." Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. Unable to look at him as she spoke, she turned her head away.

"From the time I was able to walk and speak, I was taught how to be-" Her face cringes at her next words. "-A perfect Bride. It started out small. Sitting up straight, learning to read the way a 'Lady' would. Cooking, and when I wasn't cooking, Serving the Lord of the house. To appease a future husband. I was just a child when this started... But the punishments were fit for torture for an adult. If I didn't sit straight, I would be struck until my position was perfect. I would sit there for hours in silence, staring at a wall in an empty room all day, my wrists and legs bound to the chair so i could not leave. I was challenged to not make any noise.

"The worst of it.... The worst of it was when I became of marrying age, when my.... c-cycle, started." Her face was hot with shame and embarrassment. But she couldn't stop now. If she did she knew she may never have the guts to tell someone ever again.

"He..... Before my Debut, he invited his friends... Fellow aristocrats.... to come teach me how to 'properly' take care of a Man's needs." She shrunk even more into herself. Scratching herself to try and get the memory off her skin. It never worked. She was struggling to speak clearly, the tears pouring out and her shaking. At some point, Sylvain had gotten closer. Just far enough that she still had her personal space, but close enough that if he was given permission, he could wrap her in his arms and hold her.  
This news made him livid. "They did... What?" He asked, with a voice calm and steady enough to completely hide his thoughts of taking some time off of class and quite possibly becoming a War Criminal. He would do all he could to make sure those men, Noblemen or not, choked for their actions. Crests be damned. He would see them burn. No one would hurt her, he decided. No one would ever hurt Bernadetta von Varley ever again, and that was a Promise.

"A lot of my memory of those times are gone... but the feeling of disgust and guilt and shame are still there. I can feel their touch.... and It Burns. It burns and it festers in my brain and I feel like I'm rotting alive. I've been tainted by their hands. And as soon as Father had seen how far they went, too far, according to him, He berated me and yelled at me and told me I was worthless. That I was damaged goods, impure, marriageable... And he's right." The leak in the dam burst, and she couldn't control her sobs. Sylvain reached for her, but she flinched away from him violently.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" She cries.

"Bee! It's me Bee! You're fine..! You're safe..! I'm not going to hurt you...!" He pleads with her gently, but she'd already started going into hysterics.

"Gods no- Please no- Please don't hurt me! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I'll be good!" She sobbed, falling onto her side and in the fetal position, tensed as if expecting to be hit.

"Bern! Stay with me. Please, Bee. It's me. It's Sylvain. I won't hurt you Bee, please. Trust me." His hand is reached out for her to take, to acknowledge, anything to let her know he wasn't a threat.

Between sobs and hyperventilating, she manages to get out, "A-An-d How-ow am I-I-I supp-supposed to be-believe thattt?!" It's almost too fractured to understand, but Sylvain gets the gist of it.

"Bernadetta... The reason why I had been following you was because you looked scared. Of us. Of those around you. Of the world. I wanted to talk to you. To get to know you. To show you that you're safe here. In the Monastery, in the Blue Lions House, with us. With me. This whole time you were in here, our classmates were worried about you. But going to the dining hall and getting you food was my idea alone. No ulterior motives, none of my normal womanizing bullshit. I was worried and I wanted to see if you'd come out, and if not then I'd just leave the basket for you. Bee, I don't expect you to let me do anything, I am just asking that you trust me enough to let me hold your hand. That's all."

Bernie had, at that moment, two choices. One, was to blindly take the hand of this man who she was apprehensive of at best up until very, VERY recently and trust that he was telling the truth. Or Two, was to deny him-and herself-of this touch that she was so absolutely starved of at the risk of him hurting her like he had just told her he wouldn't do.  
How could she even make this kind of decision?

Slowly, with the jumpiness of a rabbit waiting for danger as an excuse to run away, she grabs his hand. Very slowly as to not scare her any further, Sylvain lays down across from her.

"Bee, look at me." Through her tears that wouldn't stop, she could see the basic color of his warm palette. "We gotta get you to come down Bee. I'm going to put your hand on my chest, is that alright?" Bernadetta hesitated before nodding slightly, hiccuping between her sobs. He places it on his chest, and speaks again. "When I inhale, I want you to inhale with me, okay? Nice and slow. Breathe with me."

She nods again and he takes a long deep breath, holding and counting before slowly exhaling. She tries to follow, but the hiccups are making it hard. "Very good Bee. Let's do that again." Inhale, hold, exhale. "Very good. Again." Inhale, hold, exhale. Her tears are still going but she has begun to calm down, her thoughts weren't racing as fast as they were before. "You're doing great, Bee. Just a bit longer." He coaches. A few more times and she has finally calmed down enough to see straight once more.

Bernadetta felt so, so tired. Why was life so unbearably tiring? Why, of all people, was she chosen to be born? Certainly not to be tortured her whole life, she would hope. But maybe...

Her eyes blink away her tears to see those Amber eyes staring at her with such a startling kindness and an unspoken promise that she almost started crying again. "I'm right here Bee. I'm not going to leave you. You're safe now, okay? As long as I'm around, No one will hurt you again. They'll have to go through me first."

Maybe, just maybe, she was chosen to be born so she could experience this moment. The space they shared, in her bed, in her room, might as well have been their own little world. And maybe, as she would find out much later, He was meant to be her world.

**Author's Note:**

> So, the reason I wrote this is because I connect with Bee a lot. At the time I started this fic, I was going through a huge dissociative episode because of a memory that triggered my phobia of men hardcore. Healing is not linear, but I like to think, that in this little world in this story, that this is the start of her healing.


End file.
